


Three Songs

by tristesses



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Gen, book canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isolation and friendship; a story in three parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three's Company (The Turbolift Blues)

**Author's Note:**

> A series of drabbles written for redshirt_roster in October 2009. All gen, no warnings needed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk, Spock, McCoy; _Two men plus one Vulcan divided by one malfunctioning turbolift equals what, precisely?_
> 
> Prompts were "stuck in a turbolift" and "kitchen utensils".

_23:15_  
"Okay, it's only been fifteen minutes, someone's gonna come for us soon. Okay, Bones? Got that?"

"Damn flying tinbucket," McCoy groused, looking faintly ill. "Whole damn thing's falling apart."

"Actually, doctor," Spock noted, "such malfunctions are fairly common on cruisers of this size. In fact, there is a 27.886% chance of a turbolift's circuits freezing at any given time."

McCoy glared at him. Spock was unaffected, and continued.

"In addition, a rescue crew should arrive within the next thirty-two minutes."

"I think he's actually trying to help, Bones," Jim murmured to the doctor.

"That is an estimation, of course," Spock added.

"Good God, man! Do you actually think that's useful?" McCoy turned to Jim. "Scotty had better get us out of here, and fast. I cannot survive listening to this pointy-eared smartass."

Spock arched an eyebrow and folded his arms ominously in reply.

Jim groaned, and let his head bang against the metal wall.

 

 _00:03_  
"Forty-five minutes, Spock," McCoy enunciated. " _Forty-five minutes,_ dammit!."

"My previous estimation of time may have been inaccurate," Spock admitted.

"I think I'm going to die," Jim announced.

 

 _00:41_  
"There is an exercise in logic often performed by Vulcans that may help alleviate the monotony," Spock said.

"Okay," replied Jim warily. "What is it?"

"One person selects a topic or object and concentrates on it whilst the other players attempt to decipher the precise nature of said object, utilizing logic and rational thought to create inquiries which will give them clues to their task."

"Wait - you're talking about twenty questions?" asked McCoy disbelievingly.

"That is the limit on inquiries, yes."

McCoy rolled his eyes. Jim shrugged.

"I'm game if you are."

 

 _01:06_  
Vulcans always win at twenty questions.

 

 _01:33_  
" - and then Jo chased me through the house with a spatula," McCoy reminisced fondly. "Kept trying to whack me on the head, too. Crazy kid."

"I sympathize with her desire to physically assault you with kitchen utensils," Spock said, a little awkwardly. McCoy stared at him. "I apologize; I was attempting to join in the spirit of camaraderie and 'kid around', as you call it."

"Yeah, I got that. It was a good try."

"Thank you, doctor."

 

 _02:00_  
Scotty stared.

"Greetings, Mr. Scott," Spock said. "I trust you have come to fix the lift?"

Scotty nodded.

"The Captain and Doctor McCoy were overtaken by exhaustion."

"That why they're...sleeping on each other, then?"

"Indeed."

They regarded each other.

"I'll just get this fixed, then," said Scotty, jerking his thumb at the lift.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Scott," Spock said serenely.


	2. Setting a Place for Elijah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winona Kirk; _Winona regards her faith with a mixture of cynicism and longing. She feels rather the same towards Jim._
> 
> Written for the prompts "holidays" and "missing family members".

She doesn't remember her old faith. The memories quaver and twist in her mind, and what remains comes to her in flashes like tattered old-style film - her father's voice rumbling the _kiddush_ , crinkled cotton hiding the challah, the bloody tint of wine in clouded glasses - or a different holiday, pale orange flame bobbing as hot wax from the _shamash_ dribbles down her fingers; it's painful, but she doesn't flinch. She performs her duty and lights each candle, a faint imitation of a miracle. George once grasped Sam's hand and guided the flame from wick to wick, the flickering fire reflected in her son's wide young eyes, whispering the beginning of the prayer in that guttural ancient language. That's something Jim never had, the steady rhythm of his father's voice to reassure him. Her words were nothing compared to George's prayers. Her presence is thin and translucent compared to George's ghost, moth wings versus holy flame.

It's the fourteenth of Nisan, by the old reckoning. There are two full wineglasses on her table. She's alone in an empty house, and she can remember no blessings. On the holoscreen her son is receiving commendations for exemplary service, and she hates Starfleet a little for taking him away, her little boy who she loves so.

" _Mazel tov,_ Jim," Winona says, raising her glass to the screen, and drinks it dry.


	3. Lessons in Creative Physics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chekov, Sulu, K't'lk; _He's keeping his cool. Except for the part where, if Sulu wasn't there with him, he'd probably have flung himself out of the airlock in an attempt to escape by now._
> 
> Prompts were "genius" and "insects".

Chekov's palms are sweating. He glances around quickly to make sure no one's watching, and wipes them on the front of his regulation trousers, even though that will only take care of the problem for a little while; he's so nervous, and it's so _stupid_. He's a crewman aboard the _Enterprise_! He's faced weird tentacle aliens, carnivorous flora, lascivious come-ons from the Captain, and he should not be trembling over the thought of one Hamalki scientist. She is utterly brilliant; Chekov has read her papers, her work on creative physics, and is proud to be one of the only crew members who can understand it. Even Mr. Spock sometimes quirks an eyebrow in confusion while he reads them, which makes Chekov feel utterly superior. That memory makes some of the tension ease out of Chekov's shoulders - it's not every day you're better at physics than the resident Vulcan - until, of course, he remembers that the said Vulcan probably isn't about to faint at the prospect of meeting K't'lk.

Hikaru nudges Chekov and winks, probably to make Chekov relax a bit. Chekov manages a feeble smile in return. He's considering edging up to Hikaru and hoping his friend whispers some joke about silly irrational phobias in his ear, but just as Chekov starts to creep forward, the door to the Galileo slides open with a soft swoosh, and the three beings inside step out. The Captain, followed by Spock, and - _oh_. Chekov sways a little, or at least it feels like it, trying to stem the sudden fearful rush of heat to his face that seems to narrow his vision into a little tunnel that focuses only on the thing that terrifies him so: K't'lk, the genuis Hamalki scientist, skittering toward him on twelve many-jointed legs, her twelve black eyes gleaming maliciously in the artificial lights. Her chitinous body is practically transparent, and Chekov can see strange arachnid organs working inside her.

 _Relax, Pavel,_ he chants mentally, _relax relax relax -_

There are rows of dagger-sharp spines decorating her abdomen that twitch slightly as she crawls jerkily in his direction. Chekov's eyes widen until they're nearly round, and he grabs at Hikaru's wrist. Hikaru steadies him and whispers, "Remember what you read, Pav. They're a peaceful species, right? They don't believe in violence. And she's a person, too, just like you. She's not going to hurt you. Okay?"

"Da," breathes Chekov, and as K't'lk comes to a stop in front of him, the Captain and first officer just behind her, Hikaru eases his clutch on his arm.

"Ch'k'v!" the Hamalki chimes brightly, waving those spines at him in greeting. "I have long wanted to speak with you! Sp'ck tells me your grasp of creative physics is exceptional! Shall we discuss?"

She's... _nice_. Okay. He can do this. Chekov smiles at her, and it's not as difficult as he thought it'd be.

"Da, I think we should," he replies, and relaxes minutely, muscle by muscle.


End file.
